


Ambidextrous

by silver_drip



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambidextrous, Spies & Secret Agents, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_drip/pseuds/silver_drip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Black Widow Program all girls are required to be ambidextrous. Clint walks in on Natasha practicing that skill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ambidextrous

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by [jiuge's](http://jiuge.deviantart.com/) [piece of art](http://jiuge.deviantart.com/art/Black-widow-553497222)

* * *

 

It was three in the morning. Clint’s stomach was aching for food, but he knew that on any given mission there was a chance that he’d have to be at the top of his game even when starving. It was better to practice now than to be forced to do it out on the field.

He hadn’t eaten in three days and was already light headed. He’d actually have to use the safety clip on the treadmill in case he fainted.

Clint was living off just water and he probably shouldn’t have drank so much before heading to the downstairs gym. He could already feeling it slosh back and forth in his stomach, a feeling that would only intensify as he ran.

He already felt nauseous, but he’d have to move past it. For a spy or soldier being able to power through the pain was vital.

The elevator slid open and he forced himself to push off the railing and exit.

Someone was already using one of the treadmills, but he was too worn out to care who it was.

He swallowed the spit in his mouth, wishing it was a big bite of greasy pizza.

If he could just run five continuous miles in this state his training would be over, but next time he did this sort of training he’d force himself to run seven continuous miles.

His feet already felt like lead weights as he turned the final corner to enter the gym.

Clint paused in confusion. The scene in front of him didn’t quite make sense. He knew that was partially due to the fact that his mind was addled by hunger.

It was a bit of a blur and he couldn’t count the number of juggling balls were careening through the air.

Some part of his mind remembered having to learn how to juggle when he was in the circus, but not for entertainment value. It taught him to be ambidextrous so that he could shoot his bow with either hand taking the lead.

Natasha’s sharp eyes landed on him, neither her steps nor hands faltering.

She’d probably heard him the second the elevator opened, despite the noise of her heavy breathing, light footfalls, and whirring of the treadmill.

She nodded at him and he nodded in return.

Clint dragged his feet to the treadmill beside hers. He glanced at her treadmill interface, knowing she wouldn’t mind. Full speed, inclined ramp, just over ten miles—something she could run on any given day, but she was breathing heavier than usual. The juggling was taking a mental toll on her, which was understandable.

Clint turned back to his own treadmill, clipping on a cord that would stop the treadmill if he fell. He sighed before starting his five mile run.


End file.
